Domino Effect Engraving on Nevers
by lye tea
Summary: There was a reason why Mrs. Yagami rarely left the house, or why Light was so adamant on the revival of justice. /Yagami Family-centric/ /Light x Sayu/


**A/N:** Five situations that never happened.

* * *

**Domino Effect (Engraving on Nevers)**

"**Cause and effect**, means and ends, seed and fruit cannot be severed; for the effect already blooms in the cause, the end preexists in the means, the fruit in the seed."

—Emerson

_…this is the destruction of soul and psyche…_

**i. ****Mr. Yagami & a cup of coffee  
**raising the bar, one leg up

They married young. He was barely into his mid-twenties and she was still in college. The days were hard and the money ran sour and sore. He worked odd hours, slaving away for a family-to-come, and envisioned (envying) all the someday-soon toys and luxuries he could buy for his future children and darling wife.

She was a good woman (Soichiro smiled proudly), sedulous and cautious (she seeded the family grounds and bore them upright) and never once complained about anything frivolous. He was a lucky, lucky man with a wonderful wife—even though she was plain and Lady Jane-esque—who always had a hot dinner waiting on china platters.

And then the announcement came. At breakfast one day, Sachiko said that she was going back to work. Soichiro muttered "no need" that he "will take care of them" and received an icy glare as response.

"It's a good opportunity," the wife added.

"You don't have to. The money is under control. I'm even getting promoted, remember?"

"It's not that. I just want to go back to work, have some more spending money for the kids."

"The kids are fine. Light's only in grade eight, and Sayu barely even knows what homework is!"

"But the baby…"

"Oh the little one? He's got the best circumstance. Not a care in the world, sleeping all day, and guzzling down milk. If you go back to work, he'll just cry for his mommy."

Grudgingly, she let it slide, conversation stilted and put off (for now). She will bring it up later, that night, maybe when he's more exhausted and couldn't be bothered. For now, Sachiko smiled at her husband and heaped more eggs onto his plate, refilled his coffee, and dashed into the kitchen to fetch the children's lunches.

_Stocks plunging again…_

Soichiro scowled at the headlines and gulped down the rest of lukewarm coffee. Marital bliss and disaster were the same: only separated by a flimsy divider called taciturn resentment.

**ii. ****Mrs. Yagami & lunch hour blues  
**a successful career stems from compromise

He relented eventually, worn down to the bare floorboards by her insistence and prejudiced accusations.

Today was Monday was a brand new day of work, and Sachiko couldn't be happier. She stretched her legs and walked briskly to the bus-stop (Soichiro promised he would drop the older two off at school and take the infant to a daycare facility).

By nine in the morning, she was sitting contentedly behind a standard office desk, mug of tea at hand, with the computer slowly warming up. She tackled the staggering hill of paperwork first (clicking her tongue and sighing at the deplorable organization). Signed off checks and tossed away unwanted notices.

This was the job of an entirely reinvented Sachiko.

Lunchtime came by, ordered take-out noodles, ate in her office, and she was relieved that the day was already half finished. Made a brief call to Soichiro, inquired about the children (particularly the baby), and thought she had done a more than satisfied job as a modern mother.

Her secretary dropped off another pile of accumulated (useless filth) papers to be reviewed, filed, and stamped—rejected. This went on for some hours until six-thirty. And then, it was time to leave for home, feeling accomplished and complete.

Sachiko slid back her chair and flicked off the lights, humming softly as she spirited down the stairs.

**iii. ****Light & the red-faced origin of sick reprisal  
**an apocryphal stroke of idiocy

Everything commenced in the worst possible state.

Mother woke up too late to cook breakfast or prepare lunch (Light grumbled while rubbing his indignant belly). Father was in a terrible mood too (something about a case falling apart, too many criminals to tail). Sayu worried that her ponytail was too boring, needed some panache to the twist (French preferably) and that everyone is wearing a glitzy clip so why can't I?

"Light? Would you come home earlier this afternoon to look after the baby? The daycare is closed today, and the sitter would only stay until four. Mommy will be back by seven at the latest."

And so it began. He had a dreadful inkling that misfortune was imminent, creeping closer and closer as he rounded the corner and entered the school gates.

In a classroom stuffed with obstreperous, disobedient (dirt-smeared, sweat-glossed) children, Light was peculiar in an immaculate uniform, shirt perfectly pressed, and trousers dusted off clean and loose-riding against his legs.

The girls crushed on him, sighing dreamily as he nodded them hello before settling into his seat (these were the infatuated fangirls). The other boys admired him, gushing over how he could kick a ball harder and faster than anyone else; how he could recite classical poetry at the blink of an eye (these were the adoring fanpoodles).

Light was disgustingly popular, to the point of obnoxious and irksome. But the cherry-on-top factor was how he seemingly had no knowledge of this, that this was an _au naturale _occurrence. Because he, well, really was just that damn great.

The day sped by through a series of whiplash rush and chokheld forcing and eructation of information—ingrained into little minds. Teachers prayed that one of them will become the next Einstein or Mozart (hell, even a Bernini was better than nothing).

_Thank god for Light_. Thank god for a little genius in their humble classroom. Facing the board, enshrouded in light (pun and coincidence unintended) he glanced up with unreserved dedication and animation filtering through his eyes.

At three-thirty, the school bell rang, and the children cleared out like it was the next biblical exodus. Light marched alongside his friends until two blocks later, then darted left (towards the elementary school) to pick up his lovely little sister.

And all thoughts of hurrying home evaporated soon enough.

**iv. ****Sayu & her brother sitting in a tree  
**"k-i-s-s-i-n-g"

She got yelled at again by the teacher. This time for forgetting some esoteric, capriciously designated as "important to the essence of life" mathematical formula.

Sayu liked school, her teachers, her friends (morning and afternoon recesses from class especially) but she hated having to cram everything into her head immediately. She wasn't an automatic-shift, set-on-drive robot like her brother, able to regurgitate quotes and strategies and test answers verbatim like it was easier than breathing.

She was quiet, had a close-knit group of friends (mostly girls) and kept to herself. But her teachers expected differently, presumed that since she was a _Yagami_ (word infinitely striding closer to divinity—risible) she must be smart.

And she was, just not academically. Still, they got mad every time she didn't know an answer, reminding her how _Light_ didn't even need to be asked a second time, and _why can't you be like your brother?_

Bitterly, Sayu swallowed the urge to scream and apologized for being "stupid". And then the bell would ring, signaling her escape from a tyrannical baron (called literature) and off she would sprint, seeking Light and demanding to know why he had to be so "smart".

Down the hallway and out the front gates, she spied Light walking her way, books tethering him to the temporal world, the beginning of a grin, and a pat on her head for formality. Sayu brushed his hand away, scowled (still consumed with indignation) and followed three paces behind him as they sauntered home.

He asked her about her day: she mumbled about "the incident" and refused to look him in the eye.

"Tell you what, Sayu, how about we get some ice cream?"

"But shouldn't we be heading home?"

"It's only four."

"Mom told you to be home _by_ four. So we're already gonna be late."

"It'll only be ten minutes. Do you want ice cream or not?"

She considered the facts, weighing them judiciously like this was a matter of life or death, and then decided that she was in the mood for ice cream.

"That's what I thought," said Light, before kissing her cheerily—zoning in on pink lemonade lips.

Sayu blushed (too close and intimate for comfort) but shyly laced her hand with his. Light pulled her towards him till she was inches away. And together, they continued, thinking that it would be fine, it would only be for a little while.

_…Jack and Jill went up the hill…_

**v. ****The Yagami family & a heartache  
**funerals are depressing gullies catching tears and fears

Mrs. Yagami returned home from work precisely at seven in the evening, entered the unlocked front door (strange) and screamed, galvanizing the neighborhood into pandemonium.

Mr. Yagami tried to calm his hysterical wife on the phone as he jumped into his car, ignition lit, and tore down the asphalt heading home.

Light and Sayu were licking the last drooling trickles of melted ice cream when they passed the threshold (of tragedy and catastrophe) and saw two weeping parents and a pool of infantile blood.

Sayu burst into inconsolable crying into her brother's chest. Light held onto her tightly, arms snaked protectively (possessed) around her waist and waited stoically for some adequate explanation.

Police and forensics arrived, documenting the scene, and declared that this was the sure-definite work of a serial killer. Mr. Yagami, unfazed and in shock, shook his head and said that this must be a mistake, that his child must be somewhere else, that this must be a nightmare. Mrs. Yagami nodded fervently and clung onto her husband.

On the other side of the room, back against blood dappled walls, Light observed the situation with admirable impassivity (like he had an idea this would come). Gradually, he constructed an avant-garde, grandiose philosophy on the theory of crime and punishment. Engraved deeply on the surface of his bloody heart was:

– the world was rotten and putrid, dead flesh trashed in bundles and strewn across highways.

– the world needed an ablution that carried across nations (so did his family).

Criminals were evil.  
Criminals must die.

Then the world could be at peace.


End file.
